am i an immigrant?

As a kind of continuation of my portfolio class, I was told to do write a blog entry for my teacher. If it was worthy enough, he'd post it in his agency's blog. Hooray! He deemed it as such, so here is my contribution to that day's entry:

Do I feel like an immigrant? Well, the word, immigrant, has an inherent "outsider" connotation. The word, adoptee, has a similar connotation of abandonment and being left behind. And, to a degree, neither is fully accepted in society. I was adopted, and I look like an immigrant, so where do I fit in? Do I fit in?

Born in South Korea, I was adopted by a Japanese-American family in the States. I never felt like I completely fit in growing up, but still I maintained that I was American. I raised as such, so among my peers, I always felt "white." To outsiders, I looked like the foreigner. I was, and too a degree, still am, the ultimate Hostess dessert, the Twinkie, yellow on the outside and white on the inside.

Now, the adoptee paradigm within society was one thing, but within the nuclear family context, it was completely different, and unexpected.

I first must impress upon you that my childhood conundrum was only possible because of American ignorance, for which I am now thankful. The narrow-minded thought that all Asians look alike enabled me to deny my Korean ethnicity and substitute it with Japanese.

This conundrum was one I faced on a regular basis. It was figuring out what to say when asked, "Where were you born?" For most kids, it was a pretty simple question, but I had to go through a whole thought process before responding. As a child, I was told not to share the fact that I was adopted, so the answer, “Korea,” was out. I could've said, “Japan,” but being a foreigner somehow felt wrong as well. So, I told people I was born in the good ol' state of New York. And, people bought it! It was a feasible answer, and it was quickly and unequivocally accepted. I have my Japanese mother to thank for that. Korean, Japanese, it’s all the same, right? Because if all Asians didn't "look alike," my lie would have never worked.

Under the guise of a half-American, half-Japanese child, I was American enough to be embraced as one. The immigrant status was thus debunked. It was a simple enough answer, and more importantly, it deterred further questioning about my background.

The environment in which all members knew the truth was surprisingly where I maintained a status as "immigrant." I am not American. I am not Japanese, but I am biologically Korean. Everyone else in my family fit in one of the two categories, if not both. Here was the one place I couldn't lie or hid behind my Asian exterior. My home, my safe-haven was the one place I felt different.

So, to answer the initial question, "Do I feel like an immigrant?" I respond with this: if by "immigrant" you mean "outsider," then yes, I feel like an immigrant. However, I can't ignore my status as an adoptee. As its meaning is essentially synonymous with abandonment, I do believe being left on a doorstep in a basket qualifies. But, that's a story for another time.

But, you should read the whole entry. So click here to see it.